Susan's Scribblings the Blog

Do people who twitch annoy you? I can only imagine the most shallow people would be annoyed by the presence of a person who may have a bodily dysfunction like a twitch. This also applies to scoffing at the visibly challenged, such as those who have mobility assistance devices, people with birthmarks, acne, scars, or anything which a select class of people finds intolerable. You may identify as somebody who finds–ahem–imperfections an inconvenience to your daily existence.

If this describes you, you may also be the type who stays at home, draws the blinds, and clutches the pearls if you so much as raise a bump on the skin while plucking a facial hair.

You’re bringing us all down, friend.

A series of prescription commercials are directed at a condition known as tardive dyskinesia, a side effect of some types of anti-depressant medications. TD can cause involuntary mouth or limb movements such as twitching. So can some chronic conditions. People suffering from these symptoms cannot control them. You, however, can control how you react to them. The folks on the ads say that they feel people are staring at their TD instead of at the person.

So people make other people feel bad about themselves, they take medication to feel better, and they still get picked on for having side effects. That sounds like a typical game plan of a bully: destroy everything until the victim is destroyed.

What kind of human being does this stuff? Hope that doesn’t describe you.

Life is not about catering to your ideals; they’re about blending all our lives into one ideal world in which everybody has a place. Some people are quick to ruin life for others because of something they perceive as a flaw, but the truth is the flaws we can see are much better than those we cannot.

Some ugly stuff is in our souls.

I don’t stare at flaws: I engage people at the soul level. I bring a smile and pleasant words and patience. Others pick apart and complain, swear and interrupt the flow of time with impatience. You may know some of these high-horse riding folks as Karens.

Karen is a nice name, not to be confused with an attitude.

Since some medications may have side effects, a patient may weigh the benefits of one over the other. In some cases, they take another medication to counteract the side effects of the one causing the TD. Now that’s dedication; they don’t want to sit at home with the blinds drawn and clutch their pearls. They want to live their lives.

Next time you get ready to stare at somebody who is twitching, just don’t do it.

I took a Me Day to visit the shore. After over two decades of not going to the beach, I thought it was time to return, so I’m renting a property to take some time off just to write and relax. As part of the process of reviewing the place in person and finalizing the details, I decided to get my walking in on the boardwalk while I was there. Boy am I tired.

The driving was not bad for a spring weekend. In the absence of maps, I tried to use my car’s service to offer turn-by-turn directions, but it wanted me to take the toll road, so I discarded that option. Instead I headed out using the main highway leading to the popular beach side resorts, and turned when the signs told me to. Worked fine for me.

The issue I had was not recognizing anything along the route. The usual landmarks have been replaced by sprawling malls and housing developments, and I think I completely missed one of my father’s favorite shortcuts simply because it wasn’t there (or at least it didn’t look like I expected it to), so I drove flat out on one road until a turnoff appeared for the main strip to the southern shore towns. If I had stayed on the same road, eventually I would have driven my car into the Atlantic Ocean, so it was just a matter of making a turn before that happened.

Some things have not changed in over twenty years; the little tykes’ theme park was still there, along with the familiar farmer’s markets, the hubcap emporium featuring a tall tree of them as a roadside attraction, and an abundance of mobile home parks and campgrounds along the way. It was a pleasant excursion, though my favorite radio station lost its signal less than a quarter of a way to the destination.

The visitor’s center used to be a little building on a spit of land off the bridge, but it has become a modern and complex place to figure out how to enter. I missed the turnoff, so I didn’t visit. The truck behind me, who was in an immense hurry, is partly to blame for the distraction.

Once I tended to the business portion of the trip, I dropped off some donations at the animal shelter, then went to the boardwalk and strolled nearly ten full blocks, then took off my shoes and walked barefoot along the sand and dipped my toes in the water. The ocean was bracing, the breeze strong but tolerable, and the sand felt good on my feet. By the time I turned for home, I was pleasantly achy and tired, so I know I’ll sleep well tonight. Also, my wallet is lighter, because I made a gift shop stop.

Come summer, I’ll be back to enjoy some peace and quiet. If I can ignore the call of the sea.

I spent a few hours at a horror convention. After too long without this twice annual event, people were happy to brave nasty weather to buy scary merchandise and meet horror related celebrities.

We spent hours strolling through the shopping mecca of scary stuff; movies on DVD, tee shirts, collectibles, jewelry, action figures and reproductions of iconic items like the Phantasm sentinel sphere and Thor’s mighty hammer (I thought about trying to heft it, but figured I’m not worthy).

The crowd was amazing, polite, pleasant and mannerly. I was also told that the celebs were gracious. Though I was familiar with a few of them, I didn’t seek any pre-paid autographs or photos, though a friend did get a picture with a popular television serial killer vigilante and was thrilled to get up close and personal with somebody so well-known.

Part of the thrill for me was just watching the parade of humanity. One daring fellow went full-on with applying an afore-mentioned Phantasm sphere to be lodged in his forehead. A variety of cosplay guests (persons who try to exactly replicate a popular culture character by wearing a costume and full makeup and/or accessories/prosthetics), including Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger, moved through the crowd and posed for pictures. I even saw a youngster dressed as Chucky in his pre-evil killer doll persona. Some women wore horror-themed dresses, and plenty of jackets sported scary themes.

Among the crush of people, we did notice a lot of body art revealed with bare arms and creatively covered torsos, and the only bad thing to speak of was the fact that the aroma of a certain controversial plant occasionally crossed our paths because somebody had taken a smoke break before entering the convention floor. The police officers strolling the area had nothing really to do. The attendees were civil.

Movies ran in one of the hotel auditoriums on a continuous schedule. Annual vendors were easy to find for their regular visitors, and I met up with the tee shirt vendor who was happy to announce that he got licensing for some popular shirts. I got three.

Horror themed conventions aren’t that much different from others, and it was liberating to go out on a cold and rainy/snowy day and see some interesting things.

I’ll even sleep well tonight.

One should be suspicious of any business that does not have an accessible information booth or a complaint department. In the olden days, department stores had a complaint department; it was often near the gift wrap and returns, and in the lower level (read basement), but customers could form a queue and politely air grievances about anything to do with their store experience and have a sympathetic ear. Often the ear was also attached to some mild-mannered milquetoast; in later years the person behind the desk may have been more commanding in their presence, such as a woman one might suspect of having worked in a rock quarry (“Yeah, what’s your beef, wimp?”)

I have been having some frustrating issues lately, and no place to talk about them. Facebook, for example, has been limiting my actions on the very page you are reading when it is posted there, and they won’t let me settle the issue. Everything I click on is blocked, so I can’t inquire or provide what they may need to reverse the matter. I am so grateful for the handful of supporters I have now, since any potential new supporters don’t know I exist because Facebook doesn’t seem interested in letting me speak with them.

Microsoft is also a problem to complain to. I had an issue with a game, and when somebody is using a game for brain stimulation or relaxation like me, an issue with playing tends to have the opposite effect. Normally I would turn to the YouTube cheats, in which an expert deftly solves the puzzle while you watch and makes you feel like a total idiot, but this was a rare occasion when I could not find one for this particular game. Sure it’s embarrassing to have somebody hold your hand through a game, but imagine, when there isn’t one, what new level of hell that can be, especially when one is used to ranking in the top ten or twenty on any given day. This particular game cost me dearly when I struggled to reach that point and grew too exhausted to go further, and I ended up in the top 50 somewhere.

Sometimes in my daily job, I field complaints from other people. This past week I got one of my most dreaded classic approaches to complaining: the entitled person who misses their high school debate team years and makes anybody in customer service miserable by being a jerk and not knowing when to stop.

These types follow a predictable pattern; first, they openly admit they didn’t follow the best route to satisfaction, either through misguided actions on their part or downright fraud, and the reply simply suggests another way to get the same result. This then brings another reply stating that our answer is useless. Imagine that: throwing monetary bonuses or the road to satisfaction their way, and they call it useless. I always wonder what type of person does this (Dr. Phil McGraw would probably say a narcissist). After a further review and polite suggestions, another missal (read missile) is launched picking apart the reply verbatim with an opinionated jab or two such as “You’re talking with the flair of corporate speak.” Well, sir, who would you want to reply to your malodorous rant, the local librarian?

Maybe the reason some places did away with complaint departments is that, once one has been complained to all day, the services of a shrink are required, and that’s expensive. The costs have to be passed on to customers, who then complain about that. Gee, we are a complaining race, aren’t we.

We are starting to re-enter a world we haven’t seen in almost two years, and it’s going to be scary for a while before we feel comfortable with it again. I’m talking about what will happen when people can see our mouths and noses after hiding them like bandits for 23 months.

The signs are coming down from businesses, and schools are starting to debate the issue of when to uncover. Soon we will be freely breathing air without the protection of woven material to catch possible contaminants.

I don’t know what will happen to the rebels who sat on their high horses and refused to cover up all this time. I suppose they will simply blend in with the rest of the bare-faced sea of humanity and never spout their disagreeable rhetoric again.

Or they may take up another cause instead.

The problem with uncovering is that most of us have not had to do anything with our faces for nearly two years. In fact, some of us haven’t had anything to do at all for two years. It shows not just on our faces, but in our sudden increased girth.

I know I’ve gained pounds since I had to pack up my work stuff and set it up at home two Marches ago. Luckily my clothes held out for most of the journey, and I think that a few pounds off will put me back into them again. That and my newfound love for those wonderful control garments that will mold any flab on my ab and pinch up my paunch. God bless Sara Blakely.

As for facial improvements, some people took the time to see the nip and tuck surgeons, so they may not look quite the same when gatherings commence. Others, like me, will debate how to draw on features again after hiding them for months. Makeup counters will be busy once more, and the point of sale machines will be smoking with all the smoky eye purchases to come.

All this time I have been attending Zoom meetings, and am well-versed in how to stop video and unmute myself on cue. I tailored the background behind me so I won’t be the fourth person in the meeting room using the sun porch filter with the lovely window looking out at sunlight joy. I also put on makeup.

Now I guess I’ll have to put on a more public face when I shop. No more orifice incognito.

Look out, world. The faces are coming back.

I had lobster for lunch this week. That revelation brought some interesting reactions before now, and I didn’t have a chance to really explain it, so now is the perfect time to do so.

The reason I found myself having lobster for lunch was that, on my way home from a (now rare) visit to the office, I turned onto a favorite route and saw that Cousin’s Maine Lobster had parked their food truck at the intersection, in the parking lot of a strip mall bordered by a Kohl’s and a supermarket, and I realized I would not be likely to have the opportunity to try their products again if I didn’t grab it. It was just after noontime, and only two people were in the queue, so I stopped.

Cousin’s was an early success story on ABC’s Shark Tank, when owners Sabin Lomac and Jim Szelikis pitched their then one-truck Los Angeles-based business, hoping to receive a $55,000 investment for a five percent stake, and got a deal with real estate boss lady Barbara Corcoran, who jacked up her cut to fifteen percent at the end. The business has grown to nearly five-fold and covers nineteen states.

While reviewing the selections on the side of the truck, I realized I was dabbling in hoity-toity territory: my bill came out to $40 after leaving a tip! That was a mighty expensive lunch.

It was worth every penny. And yes, there were leftovers.

I indulged in the lobster sandwich with cheese, an order of lobster topping potato tots, and a whoopee pie. The calories were staggering, but it was a one-time deal. I was stuffed and didn’t bother with dinner then, but the rest of the tots went with the following night’s meal.

The rest of the week after that was odd, in that I took piggy-back half days off for doctor appointments: in the PM and the next day in the AM, and in the time remaining to me, I made some shopping stops–in broad daylight on a weekday!–and ran errands like having a new window shade cut.

Changing the routine can be enlightening and slightly nerve wracking when you’re not used to it. Add a rare temperature spike into the 60-degree range (in February), and nothing seemed right about four of the five days. Add to that a bunch of Zoom meetings, freak storms, part of my block closing for pothole repair (the gas and electric company did that one, and another big honking tire eater, which was not theirs, remains for the municipal crew to fill in), and a mad scramble to figure out how to order a new collectible from a group I recently joined, and it will be nice to return to something like normal next week.

If such a thing is possible.

At least I’m back to the usual cheap lunches.

The biggest test of relationships seems to come around Valentine’s Day.

Correction: the biggest test of sanity for anybody seems to come around Valentine’s Day.

The holiday to celebrate love is becoming–if it hasn’t already–a symbol of blatant commercialism eclipsed only by Christmas. A demographic pulled for 2017 indicated that the average expenditure for the day is $136 per person. My recent excursion to the supermarket proved that’s gone up a bit more; I wove through endless displays of confections such as a half dozen dipped strawberries at $16 (champagne not included), bundles of roses and little orchids with big price tags. Along with the guacamole and hot wings for the Big Game tomorrow, the madness was intimidating, except that I wasn’t there for any of it. I bought my dinners for the week, some milk and bread, and shook my head at the continued disappointment at the cookie aisle, which has been devoid of my favorites for three weeks now.

People fall into a spectrum of those who have somebody to love, and those who do not. Some do currently, and some don’t currently. Some have been wrung out to dry multiple times, and they’re more hardened to it, while others have never known that exquisite moment of true love and are miserable. It’s what makes the day polarizing for people.

I remember, when I worked in the city many years ago, on Valentine’s Day some of the business-suited men were carrying large white boxes of roses or a gazillion balloons through the streets, on the buses and trains, while others were slogging through the day empty-handed.

Those folks who are single, widowed or divorced watch and ruminate. Those folks who are married, engaged or dating take note of what’s going home to somebody else, in anticipation of what is to come when they’re home at last.

Unfortunately the day doesn’t end well for everybody, with fighting, broken hearts, murders and suicides on the rise around such socially requisite holidays each year, it’s worth thinking about why we go to such lengths to divide the population in that way. The businesses making these expensive presents get richer, while psychologically the rest of us sometimes get poorer. The only thing missing is a tree. There is a network on cable that does nothing but romantic movies all year, so they don’t even have to label them for Valentine’s Day: it’s 24/7/365 for them already.

And don’t forget the tradition of giving little cards out in school, where some decorated inboxes are chronically emptier than others and the snubs serve as the first lesson in where a little child may rank on that spectrum when it comes to their worthiness for affection. It shouldn’t be that way.

After all, everybody doesn’t observe Christmas, but everybody deserves love.

Fast food drive-throughs can be an experience in frustration. I went to my favorite popular chain for dinner today. Last week there was no line at the drive-through, but this week, same time of day, everybody wanted to eat there. The queue of waiting cars was at least ten deep.

That’s okay: it’s food and I’m not a dude (in other words, I can wait in line and not fume about it).

This establishment has a two-lane drive-up system in which you can take the left or right fork to shorten the line, pull up to one of the squawk boxes to place your order, and magically they manage to handle the chaos well.

While waiting to choose your fork, the polite thing to do is wait in the single line until you approach the spot, but a car that came in from the main road acted as if they planned to go around to the other side of the restaurant, but instead cut in line and entered the right fork. I ended up behind them, so you know it didn’t make their wait any faster.

Once the orders are placed, cars merge into a single line again to pay and pick up their orders, and this is where it gets interesting. Many fast food places have two windows: pay and pick-up. But this one has a third option: if your order takes longer to handle, you may be asked to pull ahead to a spot which will enable those behind you to leave with their faster prepared food.

Today, I got sent to what I call the purgatory window. It’s the no zone spot of delayed fulfilment.

While waiting at various locations’ purgatory windows, I’ve noticed what an empty experience it is. While the pay and pick-up windows let you see the bustle of employee activity or signage, hear the beeps of soda and ice cream machines and sounds from their computer terminals, the purgatory window is devoid of any sensory joy. Often the view inside is of the building’s switch boxes, an emergency exit door, or piled boxes of stock which had no place to go elsewhere.

I don’t know why my adding lettuce to a burger consigns me to the purgatory window, but I’m glad they pay extra attention to get my food right. What might make the wait better is some type of bonus, like a different message board or a sign. Waiting for food is tough at any restaurant, so pick-up could use the extra boost to keep it relevant.

Writer Chuck Klosterman is releasing a book, “The Nineties,” about the decade that has come to define life before the Internet, cell phones and international upheaval changed our way of existence. The book is scheduled to be available on February 8. Klosterman takes a look at what has happened to our culture and everyday life since the turn of the century, and from previews it sounds like he nailed it.

We still had landlines back in 1990, and when the phone rang, you picked it up because caller ID was not common. We had grunge music, and an era of music fans answered to the call of Kurt Cobain and the Nevermind album to “entertain us.” Seinfeld was the television show to watch. Thelma and Louise was a popular movie. The Mall of America became the largest retail mecca in the country. East and West Germany came together after the Berlin Wall came down two months before the decade began. We were introduced to Harry Potter. Scientists cloned a sheep.

On the downside, we lost Queen leader Freddie Mercury, and music died a little again. OJ Simpson became the center of a homicide controversy. Prince Charles and Princess Diana divorced. Students at Columbine High School were victimized in a mass shooting. The World Trade Center was bombed for the first time. President Bill Clinton became another subject of scrutiny. Rodney King was beaten by police officers, and a tape of the assault shocked the nation.

The decade didn’t bring us the same groundbreaking firsts as the past 21 years, but those that did mattered. Cell phones came into bigger use by the end of the decade, and computers became a must in our homes (and soon, portability became a demand as well). The tragedies of that period helped us build better protections for today. Klosterman’s look back is just a glimpse at a time that now seems long behind us. Let’s hope he will be around to write about these last 20 years, sometime in the future.

My television viewing this week was interrupted by an advertisement for a product that drew my attention for all the wrong reasons. As if there weren’t enough things to annoy us in the world already.

The product is an oven called Tovala, and it’s touted as the latest in easy preparation meals. They have taken home delivery and technology and combined them into a service revolving around a special oven which depends on your Internet to work. The company sends fresh one- or two-serving meals every week to your home, and a scan of a barcode enables the oven to source the instructions using your Wi-Fi (via a mobile app) and prepare it for you. In other words, there is no timing in a microwave, no pre-heating as with a standard oven and, naturally, no prep. Also, no involvement; you don’t even need to read directions.

Some things are missing from such apathetic meal handling, such as a real cooking experience. Quick home meals are the next best convenient thing to the fast food drive-through, but a meal cooked from scratch is a vanishing art except on cooking shows.

There is something about meal preparation that needs a structured time schedule to get right. With fresh ingredients, you take charge of what goes into your body, because you bought them. Your pre-heating time is part of your prep time, and the time spent cooking is taken up by other menu items or even clearing your prep materials. For a complete meal, you use basic math to figure out when to cook what, and if you have ever eaten flaccid broccoli florets because you had to microwave them with your Salisbury steak, you know how important those individual cook times are. When you get it right, your reward is a meal with each component perfectly prepared, the proper temperature, and even seasoned to taste. Try getting that from pre-measured components in a tray.

And what happens when your Wi-Fi is interrupted? Do you lose the meal? Can you reheat in the Tovala or even the microwave? The questions on their site make it obvious that you have little choice but to depend upon the strict requirements of the oven, which you buy and then maintain a subscription to the meal delivery to use it. If you stop receiving the meals, the oven is useless.

I cook using a standard oven and microwave. I even use my cooktop. Who needs something else to take up kitchen counter space and seems costlier than the other options out there? I don’t think cloud-based cooking will become a thing. At least not in my kitchen.